There and Back Again
by CzechChicka
Summary: TA 2949. Slightly AU because of timeline change. When 18yearold Estel leads a certain group of dwarves to Hobbiton, a seemingly innocent adventure turns suddenly lifethreatening. RR! PG13 in case of excessive violence. First in the Namesake Chronicles
1. Tears of Rain

**There and Back Again**

**Hello to all!!**

My name is Maddy, and this is _There and Back Again, _the first chaptered story of _The Namesake Chronicles. The Namesake Chronicles _is basically a record of the adventures shared by Aragorn and Legolas, and their part in the coming of the War of the Ring. This story takes place on their first meeting (which won't come for a while...sorry!), and how their friendship started off on an interesting foot. So far, the stories that fall under this category are:

**The Namesake Chronicles:**

300 Ways to Prepare Kiwi

There and Back Again

**Story Summary: **TA 2949. Slightly AU because of timeline change. When 18-year-old Estel leads a certain group of dwarves to Hobbiton, a seemingly innocent adventure turnes suddenly life-threatening.

**Disclaimer: **If anyone here thinks I deserve the right to own the Tolkien enterprise, please allow me to introduce you to this lovely new sweater from Mental Inc. Pure white fabric with intertwining sleves make a perfect holiday gift for anyone who lives life on the wild side...

**Author's Note: **Hey there! It never fails! Every time I post a new story, I get complaints that what I write isn't to-the-letter correct. GRRRRR!! Well, here are some little F.Y.I's for the nit-pickers who read this, LOL.

I'm not going to pretend that I know all there is to know about the Lord of the Rings, but I do know some of the history from the Silmarillion and the books. If I make a technical mistake, I appologize, I'm only human (we all hope).

Second, I'm not a grammar teacher for a reason...I HATE IT! My English should be correct for the most part, but if it isn't, sue me. J/K

And about languages, the only ones that I have used so far are Quenya and Sindarin, and none that are unrecognizable are in this chapter. If there are prolonged sentences is Elvish, I'll provide a translation before the chapter.

Lastly, I have yet to finish the rest of this story. I have most of the chapters finished, but the last few need some finishing touches. Please remember that this is my first year of high school (gasp, oh the horror), and I'm trying to adjust, so have a little pitty on the downtrodden freshman! I'll try to post every week on Sunday, but don't kill me if I don't. I have a very busy schedule with Jazz Band at 7 every few mornings and a crapload of homework every night. I promise I'll try!!!!! ;-)

Now that I've had my ranting session, please enjoy the first chapter!!!!!!

* * *

**Chapter One: Tears of Rain**

Lost in on the chesterfield

Or maybe on a gambling wheel

Lost it in a diamond mine

It's dark as hell and hard to find

It ain't carved out of stone or made of wood

And if you pay for it then it ain' t no good

And you still won't know

What I'm looking for

Nickleback

Rain fell softly on the soft ground of Middle Earth. The greedy, parched ground soaked up any drop that touched it. The trees in the great forest seemed to whisper to one another, questioning the unseen presence in their midst. As the time drew sluggishly onward, the now increasingly soaked ground could hold no more, and the now heavily falling rain ran in rivulets down the side of the hill. The mud-caked ground could barely hold a passing salamander without collapsing under its weight. But still, as though unaware of this, a dark figure pressed onward.

The figure, cloaked in a brown, slightly dirtied traveling cloak trudged onward through the pouring rain, determined to reach his destination no matter how long it took him. His knee-high boots squished loudly through the mud, and ringlets of wet, raven hair hung out of his hooded head. His arms were crossed over his chest, laboring desperately to keep the piercing wind from reaching his vulnerable skin. And still, he pressed onward.

The young man of only 18 was Estel, and he was a man shrouded with mystery. He did not know his father, his race, or even his true name. All he knew was that he was a human, and that he had to get to Bree as soon as possible. That was, assuming he could make it through the relentless storm that stretched on for miles around him. All he could do was hope.

Hope. That was what his name meant. 'Estel' was the elvish word for that, a name he had been given when he was a mere babe by the Lord Elrond of Imladris. But why hope, no one knew, save for Elrond, his two older brothers, and perhaps even Gandalf. Sometimes, Estel would catch them shooting him sympathetic looks, even on the happiest of days.

Estel looked up and caught sight of the tree line just ahead. Unconsciously, he quickened his pace. He could already see the small village of Bree in the far distance. The tiny town looked as though it was a ramshackle mess of driftwood to the untrained eye, but Estel knew for a fact that it was an economic town bustling with activity. It was filled not only with men, but of a great number of hobbits, too, and a great many travelers flocked to the Prancing Pony Inn regularly, if only to taste their famous malt beer.

o-o-o

Life at the Prancing Pony was business as usual; drunken men and merry, jovial hobbits mingled about in the cramped space in the inn. And tonight, it also held two completely separate groups of beings.

Far in the corner, drinking a mug of Bree's finest malt beer was a stout, bearded dwarf. He sat alone at the table, but he was far from companionless. No less than twelve similar beings surrounded him as inconspicuously as they could, either smoking long, wooden pipes or entertaining guests with their foreign music. They seemed to be waiting for someone to appear, someone who took especially too long to do so.

Suddenly, the lone dwarf felt a sharp breeze, and turned toward the door. The soft trickling they had been hearing consistently due to the rain multiplied to a roaring thunderstorm as the door opened. In strode a tall, elderly looking fellow, equipped with a pointed hat and a long, wooden staff. Over his back, he carried a pack of what were most likely essentials, and he looked about him before his eyes landed on what he was looking for.

"No rooms today, I'm afraid, Tom. I'm here strictly on business only," he explained kindly to the innkeeper, who looked slightly put out on the prospect of no payment for housing such a constant customer. The man then hobbled over to the dwarf and settled himself down. For a minute he looked as though he was about to say something, but no sound escaped his lips. The dwarf waited impatiently, and, finally frustrated, spoke in a harsh tone to the old man.

"May I ask why you asked us to meet you here of all places, Gandalf?"

Gandalf, for that was the old man's name, looked thoughtfully at the ceiling before he replied, "I wish for you to meet a friend of mine." He then fell comfortably silent, although the dwarf was far from calmed. His beard still held droplets from the rain he had been forced to travel through to get here. He shot the wizard a scrutinizing glare before he continued to speak.

"Are you telling me, wizard, that my company traveled hundreds of miles off coarse just so we could meet an acquaintance of yours?" demanded Thorin angrily. For a while the wizard didn't reply. Then, he laid his pipe across the table, looked the dwarf in the eye, and asked, "Are you aware, master dwarf, that thirteen is a very unlucky number?" Thorin pondered this for a second. True, his company did number thirteen, but did the old superstition actually mean anything?

"So...you wish for this friend to accompany us to the mountain?" asked Thorin. Gandalf shook his head.

"No. He shall only..." But Gandalf was cut off by someone else entering the pub. A very tall, hooded stranger walked through the door, just barely able to fit through the door that was not accustomed to those of his size. His large, booted feet echoed around the crowded room every time he took one of his large strides. His cloak was weather-stained, as though he had traveled for years in it. Gandalf smiled.

"Ah. I see he has arrived...at last." The tall man gazed slowly around the room, taking in every last detail, down to the earrings the lady in the corner was wearing. Then, his eyes landed on the wizard and his companion.

"Mithrandir!" he exclaimed, hurrying to get over to their table. Thorin sat gaping.

"You want us to keep the company of an _**elf**?"_ he cried. Gandalf smiled humorously but did not reply. The man had finally reached their table.

"Mae Govannen, mellon-nin," greeted the man, sitting down next to Gandalf. Gandalf chuckled and whispered in elvish, "Must you speak that nonsense everywhere you trod? You're scaring these poor dwarves out of their wits." The man chuckled.

"Mithrandir, you know I'm rusty at Westron, and even worse at the Dwarfish. But, if you insist..." Gandalf smiled at this, and turned to Thorin.

"Thorin Oakenshield, I would like you to meet Estel, foster-son of the Lord Elrond of Rivendell. Estel is going to help us with our little journey," Gandalf explained to the curious bearded being. Estel removed his hood, and revealed to Thorin a fair, young face that didn't look to be a day past twenty. He had long, sleek hair that was braided on the sides, and his gray eyes were filled with mirth, as though he knew something no one else did.

"Pleased to meet you, master dwarf," grunted Estel as politely as he could manage. He didn't like dwarves very much. Secluded, annoying little pests they were. At least, that's what Elladan always said.

"Son of Elrond?" the dwarf laughed, "True, you may resemble an elf vaguely, but you are far from being immortal, master human." It took Estel all his self-control not to reply in a string of harsh elvish curse words.

"Perhaps your ears did not hear the word 'foster'. True, I am not his physical son, but I was raised by him, and consider him my father," he replied briskly. Gandalf cut in suddenly, sensing the tense atmosphere.

"As I was saying to Thorin earlier, Estel will not accompany the party of dwarves to the Lonely Mountain." At this, Estel was forced to stifle a sigh of relief. "However, he will guide you to the Shire. More specifically, a little town called Hobbiton. You do know where that is, don't you, Estel?" Gandalf asked. Estel thought for a moment. He had heard of some of the towns that lay hidden in the Shire. If he wasn't mistaken, Hobbiton was one of the larger towns, though that wasn't saying much.

"Yes, I think I can. I've never been there myself, but Elladan is a very good instructor," Estel replied. Elladan had taught him everything there was to know about the lands of Middle Earth so well that he was sure that he would have no trouble at all finding the home of the little people.

Gandalf smiled behind his gray beard and long pipe. "Very well then. We shouldn't waste any time. I've heard rumors of a particularly nasty party of beings headed this way right now. Don't want to run in to them, now do we?" Estel laughed with amusement.

"And where did you hear that from, old friend?" he asked, switching again to elvish. It seemed so uncouth to joke in the Common-Tongue.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled as he replied, "A little bird told me."

o-o-o

Gandalf had left some time ago, much to Estel's displeasure, as he was left most decidedly alone with the party of dwarves. The stubborn little pests had decided not to heed the wizard's well-placed warning, and had instead bunked in for the night. Estel, having no money for a room, and having no desire to sleep in the same room as what he considered a backstabbing brute, kept watch all night. He was not a happy camper.

It was nearly dawn now, and the dwarves had still not awoken from their slumber. Estel shifted in his chair impatiently. It was not wise to let the word of a wizard-especially one as esteemed as Mithrandir-go unheeded. But the dwarves cast the words away with a wave of their hand, and toasted another round of mead. Estel's grip on his anger was slowly beginning to fray as he waited yet another half hour without the group showing any signs of waking, and Estel wasn't planning on waiting for them forever.

Standing up, Estel paced around the bar, kicking the hardwood floor with his boot heel every time he took a step. By the name of Iluvatar, where were those dwarves? By now, Estel would've gladly stridden into their rooms to shake them none too gently awake, but was held back by the knowledge that it wouldn't help their already unsteady relationship.

Estel looked up when he heard a small sigh from the corner of the bar area. A small boy barely even ten years old sat alone and looked as though he was freezing. Estel took pity on the young boy, as he looked exceedingly lonely. Seeing no one else around him, Estel walked quietly over and sat down across from the boy. The boys eyes went wide; he obviously hadn't been expecting company anytime soon, and not from someone so...creepy. Estel smiled as he remembered a similar feeling from not too long ago.

"What's your name?" he asked the boy kindly. The boy looked hesitant for a moment, but knew of no reason as to why he should withhold his name.

"Hasof, sir," the boy replied. He looked up at Estel from under his strands of sandy-blonde hair. His blue eyes seemed to be questioning why the man was here at all.

"I'm Estel," Estel said, answering the boy's unasked question. The boy smiled slightly back at him, and then looked down quickly. He rubbed his bare arms with his hands, obviously cold again, and the two fell into awkward silence for a few moments. The boy's discomfort did not go unnoticed to Estel, and when he could stand it no longer he shrugged off his coat and held it out to Hasof. Hasof looked up, not quite sure what this stranger wanted him to do with his coat.

"Here, take it for now. You look dreadful cold," coaxed Estel. Hasof looked for a moment like he was going to accept the offer, but then something clicked in the back of his mind and he shook his head.

"No, sir, I couldn't..." he mumbled, but Estel held up his hand to stem off any protests.

"Call me Estel. And please, it's no trouble. You need it more than I," he assured the boy.

"It's not that sir...Estel," Hasof protested. Estel quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

"What is it?" he asked. Hasof shifted uncomfortably under his curious gaze.

"It's...." he started, and then clamped his mouth shut before he could say anything. Estel bit back a sigh.

"Don't worry, you can tell me," he said.

Hasof lowered his eyes and said, "My mother wants me to keep this pair of clothes clean."

Estel stared at the boy for a moment, an unbelieving look in his eyes and his mouth slightly open. He looked down at his coat. It had been originally a deep, midnight blue; a gift from his father, Elrond. It had been his father's coat long ago, but it no longer looked the part. Dark, brown, dirty splotches decorated the sleeves, and the hem of the coat had a brown ring from being dragged in the mud. It wasn't even as soft as it had originally been, for the rain had made the coat stiff, like thick leather.

Realizing all of this, Estel threw his head back and laughed. Hasof, seeing the older man's reaction to what otherwise would have been an offensive remark, grinned at the man and couldn't stop himself from giggling slightly. Even though he had just met Estel, there was something about him that made his trustworthy, something about him that demanded to be listened to. He seemed familiar somehow, but Hasof knew that he had never seen him before.

Estel was about to reply to Hasof's remark about his abominable coat when he heard footsteps from the hallway that led to the dwarves' rooms. But the steps where too lightly taken to be of dwarfish origin, and he soon found himself gazing upon a short woman who bore a striking resemblance to Hasof. The woman had long, sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She, not unlike Estel, had donned a traveling garb, and had a small pack slung over her shoulder. She stopped when she saw the pair sitting together at the pitiable wooden table, and paced softly over until she was behind Hasof.

"Hasof, why are you troubling this man? Come, we must leave now," she whispered into his ear, no doubt intending to escape Estel's hearing. Estel, however, had not grown up with elves and gained nothing. Years of striving to equal the exceptional abilities of his surrounding family had not been in vain, and he picked up every word said.

"I assure you, ma'am, he was no trouble," he supplied quickly. The woman looked up, surprised that this stranger had picked up the whispered statement. She smiled slightly at the larger man and gently tapped her son on the shoulder, signaling that it was time for him to leave.

"Excuse me...?" she trailed off uncertainly, glancing up at Estel.

"Estel," he replied quickly after realizing the reason for her hesitation. The woman nodded her head and continued.

"Well, Estel, my son and I must be going. You'll excuse us, please," she said briskly, obviously in a hurry to depart. Estel stared quizzically at her retreating back. Queer folk, these people of Bree. They went against many things that he had been brought up to believe in the haven of Imladris. Perhaps he wasn't ready for the world of men just yet.

Estel pushed the chair back into its previous niche and resumed his pacing. If those damned dwarves didn't wake up soon...

Estel sighed. What would his brothers say?

TBC...

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Well, did you like! I hope so! Please, please, please review, it encourage me to post more often (winks inconspictuously). Also, please visit my web page, which can be found on my bio page.

Stay tuned for the next chapter: Unexpected Company

I would also like to say that, for once, I KEPT MY OWN DEADLINE! I promised that I would post by October, and I did! Yay for me, LOL!

Happy Halloween!!! ;-P

**_CzechChicka_**


	2. Unexpected Company

**There and Back Again**

Hey everyone! I'm back (see, I can post regularly lol)!!! I didn't get any reviews last time, but I'll let it slide because I've posted that chapter about 3 seperate times.

Anyway, this chapter should be mostly new to anyone who's reading this series. I hope you like it!

Oh, and I won't be in Rapid City next Sunday because OUR FOOTBALL TEAM IS GOING TO STATE! GO STM CAVALIERS!!!! LoL. I'll post on either Thursday or Friday this week. Pray that we win the South Dakota state title!

Hmmmmm....I don't think there's anything else....other than REVIEW PEOPLES!! Please? It just motivates me to write better and faster ;-).

All right, I think that's it for this posting, so bon voyage!

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**Chapter Two: Unexpected Company**

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with weary feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

J.R.R. Tolkien

Two weeks had passed since Estel had parted with the dwarves on the outskirts of Hobbiton, and he hadn't laid down to rest since then, hastily trying to reach Rivendell before Yen, a word that meant "year" in Quenya. Because of the infinite lifespan of the eldar, Yen occurred only once every 144 years, meaning that this would be his first and only chance to attend one. It was not something he was planning to miss.

Elladan and Elrohir had told him many stories of their past Yens. For the most part, they involved dance-filled mornings and ale-filled evenings, but Elrohir had not let it go unheard that Elladan had frequently been so saturated with wine that he had slurred the nightly blessing of Imladris, which was the last ritual of Yen. Elladan, outraged that this last bit of information had been revealed, deemed it right to remind Elrohir of the time he had been sleepwalking and asked Glorfindel for a dance. Estel grinned inwardly. Who knew what would happen this Yen?

Estel tore himself from his thoughts and looked at the sky above him. It was far past dusk, and yet the full moon shone brightly and lit his path through the valley. The grass blew back and forth in the wind, not unlike waves in a ocean. All was asleep, save Estel and a few crickets, which delighted the knoll with their peaceful music. It was the perfect place to rest after his arduous journey.

Pulling off his pack, Estel unrolled his blanket and lay on his back, gazing at the stars. Gil-Estel, or High-Hope, shone brightly despite the full moon. He closed his eyes, remembering the time when his ada had told him the story of the star, many years before in Estel's eyes. It was the story of Earendil, father of Elrond, and the fabled silmaril.

As Estel drifted slowly off to sleep, he sang the old tune softly to the silent valley.

...And over Middle-earth he passed

And heard at last the weeping sore

Of women and of elven-maids

In Elder Days, in years of yore.

But on him mighty doom was laid,

Till moon should fade, an orbed star

To pass, and tarry never more

On Hither Shores where mortals are;

Forever still a herald on

An errand that should never rest

To bear his shining lamp afar,

The Flammifer of Westernesse.

And with that, Estel's sighed deeply, and knew no more.

o-o-o

Zughtuk gazed with his abnormally large eyes through the black of night. He barred his sharp, disfigured teeth with malicious satisfaction as the sounds of chirping crickets grew silent with his presence. The night did not hinder his abilities to track their elusive prey, for he was a black creature who thrived on nothingness and despair.

They had been following the cloaked figure from the shadows since nightfall, counting on the fact that it would have to stop to rest for the night soon. True to their hope, it had, and fortunately for them, it was much more fatigued that it usually would have been. It would make everything go much easier.

Signaling to his companions, he advanced forward, surprisingly silent for one of his race. He crept through the tall grass, parting it with his gnarled fingers every few moments. When he was only a few short paces from the sleeping man, he raised a tiny tube to his mouth and placed an even tinier dart inside of it. His companions followed in suit, and all aimed their darts at the dozing man. The seconds ticked by, marked only by the occasional chirp of a brave cricket.

Then suddenly, all five of the group simultaneously fired.

The man jerked abruptly in his sleep, but did not wake. Now barely breathing, his muscles relaxed, and Zughtuk's smile became even wider.

"Nuteg, pick him up! We must get back. Follow me." The party of orcs rumbled away quickly, no longer concerned with stealth. Within seconds, they had disappeared into the night.

High above, Gil-Estel shone on the abandoned pack of Estel.

o-o-o

The earth shook beneath him, up and down in a jerky, drunken manner that seemed to stretch on and on until he became used to the pattern. He could not feel his hands, his feet, nay, not even the lower half of his body. All that he registered was the deep, pounding sensation that throbbed through his head every time his heart beat. His hair hung in long, dirty tendrils around his face, some even sticking where they had mixed with sweat and grime. He didn't dare open his eyes, fearing an unknown force that some part of him remembered had to do with his horrible headache. He heard the sound of footsteps in the distance, but paid them no heed. He had once again returned to darkness.

The second time he awoke, nothing had changed, save that the deep pounding in his head had reduced itself to a dull throbbing. He took a sharp breath quickly through his nose, and was rewarded with the revolting stench of what seemed like dead flesh rolled in mud. He coughed, and suddenly felt a sharp jab directed at his ribs, knocking the breath out of him. Deprived of the much-needed oxygen, he departed once more.

o-o-o

The air around him was cold, taking his breath away and sending involuntary shivers up his spine. Sharp rocks dug into his already deeply bruised back. He shifted, trying desperately to find a comfortable spot that didn't exist. Though Estel was awake, he didn't dare open his eyes, fearing the bright sunlight that would only serve to intensify his once again pounding headache. Even if he had wanted to, he doubted he would be able to look at the outside world. Estel sniffed the air tentatively. It had the mixed stench of rotting flesh and charred wood, enough to make his stomach lurch. He could hear hushed voices all around him, deep and guttural mutterings that struck a cord of fear in his heart.

He didn't know where he was. Though it was the obvious answer, his lethargic mind had just managed to grasp the concept. He didn't know where he was. He'd never been many places other than the surrounding area of Rivendell in his brief eighteen years of life. There were countless things that he had yet to learn, but he had never expected to gain the knowledge in such a sudden way. He had listened many times to the tales that Elladan and Elrohir had related about their mother, Celebrian. He remembered the horror that it had instilled in his heart, but compared to how he felt at the moment it had been a mere moment of anxiety.

He knew the identity of his captors. It all came together in a rush; the rotting smell of flesh, the deep, animal-like voices, the shaking earth, the jab in the ribs. He didn't need to know the name of his captors to know that he would most likely not survive this adventure. Their race was enough.

Orcs.

TBC...

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Well, I hope you liked that chapter! It's kind of short compared to the next one, but it was needed. So on probably Thursday the next chapter will be up. But there is 1 condition....I want at least five reviews!! I'm serious peeps!

Anyway, stay tuned for the next episode: _Bleeding Ears._

Well, I have to go now. But before I do, I'd like to thank all of those who reviewed my story before I took it down. Blushes You guys are AWESOME! Hope you're still reading this ;-).

Hasta luego.

**_CzechChicka_**


	3. Bleeding Ears

**There and Back Again**

**Hola mi amigos! LoL, thank you so much for all the reviews! Yes, I know, blackmailing is bad, but I couldn't resist. Anyway, I'm posting this early because....I'm leaving tomorrow! Yes, that's right, our football team made it to the SD state finals for the first time EVER! Go Cavaleirs!!! So I'm traveling from lonely west river to Vermillion, SD to see the game! Pray for STM, peoples! The creepy thing about this though is that it's happening on my birthday, ROFL. I'm turning 15 tomorrow, yay for me! November 13th rocks!**

**ANYWAY, enough of my hyperness. Here's the longest chapter thus far, and I think the most violent one I've written so far. Hope you like it!**

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**Chapter Three: Bleeding Ears**

_He said, she said..._

_No she don't_

_Be back before morning_

_And you know she won't_

_Well I remember that summer_

_Like yesterday_

_And I remember his mother_

_As he was dragged away_

_I still hear his screaming, "Where do I hide?"_

_And all he asks and I say, "Hurry inside."_

_Nickleback_

Orcs.

Oh, Valar, why orcs? Why now? How long ago had he been captured; days, weeks? It seemed to be only yesterday he had been on his way back home, hoping to make it before the joyous occasion of Yen and witness what occurred this year. Now, however, he was lying on the floor of a cave, bound by his hands and feet, hoping for nothing more than to make it out of this alive. Why did it have to be him? Had he done something horribly wrong to deserve punishment like this?

The tale of Celebrian came flashing back to his mind's eye, the way that Elladan had told it with such sadness in his heart, and the way Elrohir couldn't keep the tears from rolling down his cheeks at the mere mention of his mother's name. They told him she had been fortunate, that she had been given the gift of a second chance by Illuvatar. She had come back to her husband, Elrond, many centuries ago, grievously wounded. Though the skill of Elrond was beyond measure, he had not been able to heal her mind. Celebrian could not bear the memories of the horrendous tortures she had endured during her captivity, and had not spoken a word of them to neither her sons nor her husband. Within the year, she had departed over the sea, never again to lay eyes on her family until the age of the elves was over.

Again, Estel shivered in fear on the floor of the cave. Unfortunately for him, it had not gone unnoticed by his guards this time.

"Oi, look! The worm's awake," grunted someone crouched down next to his feet. Estel heard the hurried shuffling of feet surround him like a cage, and he curled in upon himself even more. Laughter. He heard laughter above him, and he chanced a quick glance above at the offending noise. It was a mistake.

As he opened his eyes, Estel was met with the site of not three, as he had previously gathered from the muffled sounds around him, but five black, slimy creatures, all gazing down upon him with their abnormally large, red eyes. Each one, it seemed, carried a crudely made bow at it's back and a scimitar made of rusty metal belted to their waists. Every one of their foul race took a hesitant step back as Estel opened his bleary eyes, except for one orc standing directly over him.

It was the most terrifying site Estel had ever seen in his life. The other orcs were rather short, standing at least a foot shorter that he himself. But this one, this one was over a foot _**taller** _than him. His large, round eyes were an even deeper shade of red than the others. He was bulky, heavily muscled on every part of his body, and he wore little armor to protect it. Instead of a scimitar, he carried a long, iron mace, and a crossbow was strapped on his back. He bore strange markings on his face, stripes of a red substance adorning his cheeks, clearly marking him as the leader of the group. Mangled stitches wound their way up the entire length of his arm. It was not uncommon knowledge that orcs did not die naturally of old age. This one, Estel was sure, must have lived a very hard, long life.

And he wasn't looking forward to facing this one.

"What have we here?" the tall one growled with obvious amusement, "Has the pretty elf lost his way?" The surrounding black creatures laughed mirthlessly at the comment, then quieted suddenly, waiting for their master to speak.

The orc glared at Estel, who cringed noticeably in fear, drawing more laughter from his captors. He closed his eyes, willing it all silently to go away. When he opened his eyes, he would be resting in his soft, warm bed in the haven of Imladris. His brothers would be playfully bickering by the foot of his bed, and his Ada would come in moments later, urging him to take a sleeping drug disguised as tea to soothe his raging fever.

Alas, it was not to be so.

As he opened his eyes, Estel was not welcomed by the sight of his brothers. Rather, the orc leader had crouched down over him, his head inches from Estel's face, exhaling his stinking breath over Estel's nose. The unnatural stench caused Estel to plunge into a coughing fit. He doubled over himself, barely able to breath as his body expelled what it saw as a disease. The orc leader was not pleased at this, however, and grabbed Estel roughly by his long, elf-like hair and dragged him unceremoniously to his feet. Estel swayed, not able to stand properly with his feet bound and the poison from the darts still infecting his blood. Grumbling, two orcs grabbed him maliciously by the arms just as he was about to fall, sensing that their master had better use of their pet standing. Pleased, the leader continued.

"You would do well, elf, to look at me when spoken to," he snarled. Again, Estel cringed, involuntarily closing his eyes to the terrifying sight, earning him a breathtaking punch in the stomach. He doubled over coughing yet again. I trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth, bringing a smirk onto the face of the orc leader. He turned around, and began barking orders to the rest of the party.

"Nuteg! We leave at once. Have the men gag the elf and be ready immediately," he ordered, turning around to douse the fire and gather up the remainder of their supplies. The orc in question, consumed with anger and frustration, burst unwisely from his protective shell of obedience.

"We ain't carrying him one step further! We've had nothing but maggoty bread and spoilt mutton for a full week! Why should we have to?"

The orc leader spun around on his heal and had his clawed hands to the offending creature's throat in an instant. Nuteg quieted, standing like a petrified log with his huge eyes staring in horror at what he had just said.

"Did I hear a contradiction, slug?" he questioned in a quiet but commanding tone. Nuteg shook his head, almost comically, and motioned toward his peers to help him lift Estel. Estel braced himself, prepared to fight if he had to, hoping against hope that somehow he might be able to free himself long enough to loose himself in the maze of caverns. He was startled out of his thoughts, however, as the orc leader spoke again.

"Nuteg, for once it seems, is right. The petty elf can carry himself the remainder of the journey. Cut the ropes from his legs and let's get going," he shouted. Obediently, an orc bent over his legs, using a long, jagged knife to cut his bonds. Estel waited patiently until they had come fully off, then kicked the orc savagely in the head and stumbled to his feet...

...only to be slammed back down again.

Estel's head collided with the sharp rocks of the cavern floor, and he lay there dazed for a moment. When he was finally able to focus his eyes once more, he came face to face with the rotting fur of a makeshift orc boot, firmly planted on his chest to keep him from trying to escape again. His breath having been knocked out of him upon impact, he stayed there unmoving as yet another orc wound a long rope around his hands and handed the other end to the orc leader. Estel's brief respite came to an end as the leader jerked the rope and gabbed Estel's hair simultaneously, bringing him shakily once more to his feet.

As he was jerked maliciously toward the mouth of the cave, Estel muttered under his breath, almost silently.

"My father will find me."

The orc leader laughed at this, much to the surprise of his bruised captive. He spoke loudly so that he could be heard without having to turn around and face the beaten human.

"My name is Zughtuk, elf, last of the begotten orcs. Remember to tell your father that if you ever see him again."

o-o-o

The bitter wind howled around Estel as he trudged through the knee-deep snow of the Misty Mountains. Stripped of his elven cloak, he was even colder than he normally would be under such circumstances. He was becoming weak from blood loss, as the rope on his wrists was constantly jerking, digging mercilessly into his vulnerable skin. He had been stripped down to the waist, nothing covering the upper half of his body save for his waist-length hair that twirled around him in the wind. Because the orcs could not stand to be out during the daylight hours, it was nearly midnight by the time they had left the cave where Estel had first fully awoken. Now, it was almost dawn, and though Estel shared the elves' hatred of caves, he would welcome any relief from the howling wind.

Estel stumbled over an unseen rock, earning yet another rough tug from Zughtuk, who held the other end of Estel's rope. Though Estel had no previous experience with orcs of any kind, he could tell that the orc captain was not using his full strength to harm Estel. These orcs were very mysterious creatures, he thought. Not only had they seemed reluctant to harm him past the seemingly 'necessary' punishments for his uncooperativeness, but also they had called him 'elf' not once, but many separate times. It was beyond Estel to know how they had just assumed him to be of elven origins without even checking to be sure of his race. Perhaps it had been his hair braided in the elven way, or his father's cloak, or the inscriptions on his hunting knife that had led to this assumption. He had no inkling as to whether this was a good or bad thing, but resigned himself to let the orcs discover it on their own.

Estel was literally jerked from his thoughts when he felt a tug that sent him sprawling on the ground. His captors didn't seem to notice, however, and they continued to drag him through the biting snow toward an unknown destination. It seemed to take hours, but was most likely only minutes, for him to be pulled into the mouth of yet another cavern. Though he was glad for respite from the biting cold, he was far from sighing in relief. He watched longingly as the orcs made a fire and sat around it, tearing at pieces of rotten meet with their gnarled teeth and washing it down with some unknown liquid. Estel felt the emptiness in his stomach and the parched, longing feeling in his throat and groaned in hunger.

Zughtuk looked back at his captive at the sound of the groan. Orcs were not one to feel pity, and Zughtuk was happy to count himself among that number. But even he could see that the being was dying. Odds were that he hadn't had anything to eat for days before his capture. A combination of hunger, blood loss, and hypothermia would soon take hold over the prisoner and he would be lost to them. Personally, the orc captain couldn't care less if the boy died right there in front of them. It would probably be fortunate for them if he did, for he would provide much sweeter meat then that of which they were accustomed to. His employer, however, would be far from pleased if they came back with yet another dead elf. They would not survive another disappointment.

Estel watched in surprise as Zughtuk walked over to his prone form. Not in the least bit gently, he pulled Estel over next to the fire. Estel hissed in pain as his frozen body began to thaw, but relaxed a few moments later, to exhausted to wonder what the orc was up to. He closed his eyes, hoping to have just enough time to get at least a little rest.

A few seconds later Estel opened his eyes to discover that the orc captain was holding a putrid smelling piece of flesh in his hands that looked suspiciously like the intestine of some animal, offering it to the ravenous human. Though he was starving, even Estel wouldn't sink as low as to eat raw intestine offered to him by an orc. He wrinkled his nose and turned his head away in decline. Unfortunately, he had no choice. Zughtuk grabbed Estel by the nose and stuffed the raw piece of flesh into his mouth. Estel's screamed mentally in disgust, and tried to spit the offending meat out. The orc, foreseeing this maneuver, clamped his hand over Estel's mouth, forcing him to swallow. Estel vomited inside his mouth, but had no choice. He ate it.

While Estel was still catching his breath from the forced feeding, Zughtuk forced yet another foreign substance into his mouth; this time, a flask, which immediately poured a hot, bitter liquid into his mouth. Estel gagged, but had already involuntarily swallowed the majority of the drink. He rolled over on his side, clutching his stomach in agony as the revolting substance burned in his chest. Satisfied, Zughtuk stood up and motioned to his companions.

"Codlun, check the elf. Make sure his injuries won't kill him. We can't afford another dead one," he ordered. Seemingly understanding the cryptic message, Codlun bent over the still form of Estel, much to Estel's disgust, and began examining his wounds. He found nothing of great importance, until he pulled back Estel's raven-black hair to look for any head injuries.

"Strange elf we gots here, boss," he informed Zughtuk in a squeaky, strained voice. Zughtuk turned around and raised an eyebrow in question. Codlun, understanding his leader's expression, went on.

"'E don' got them pointy ears, see? Smooth the 'ole way 'round," he informed. Hearing this, Zughtuk jumped up and strode over to the frightened form of Estel. None too gently, he pulled back the previously braided hair to reveal not the pointed ears that marked the race of the eldar, but the round, small ears of an edain. He swore.

"Damn you, you filthy human," he cursed, spitting in Estel's face and kicking him hard in the ribs. Estel, who had been in a dazed, half conscious state was brought back to reality at the exploding pain in his ribs. He rolled over onto his stomach, curling in upon himself and willing the torture to stop. Zughtuk, not noticing Estel's actions, continued chastising his underlings.

"You filth! It's a human, not an elf! What can we do with a human? We need an _**elf**!" _he shouted.

"Can we eats him, then?" growled a stout, particularly ugly orc. The orc captain glared angrily at the creature in question, and he fell silent. Another orc – was it Nuteg?- spoke reasonably calm for what appeared to be a crisis for the black party.

"We can't come back with nothing again, 'e won't allow it. We'll be fed to the wargs, it's a sure thing. We can't go back with some scum that looks like a human." he argued. Estel turned slowly back over onto his side and glanced up warily at his bickering captors. Zughtuk looked thoughtfully down at Estel, who felt a wave of terror wash through him. He could almost read what was going on in the orcs head at the moment. Zughtuk fingered the hunting knife on his belt, then jerked it out of its sheath. He smiled sadistically at Estel, and muttered so that the rest could hear him.

L"I can fix that."

He positioned the knife in his hand so that he could grasp it better with one hand. With the other, he motioned for two orcs to hold the human down on his back. Slowly, as if savoring every moment of it, he turned Estel's head to the side and pulled back the hair that covered his ears. Estel, now knowing without a doubt what was about to occur, struggled madly against his captors, but to no avail. Zughtuk set his knife down next to where Estel's ear met his head. He waited a moment, savoring the horror in the eyes of his victim. He jerked his hand.

Estel screamed.

* * *

**Well, I hope you liked that chapter! It took me two weeks to write it gives everyone around the evil eye. **

**Oh, and thanks again to my reviewers!!!**

**jacquelinestel: **LoL. I know, I'm evil....MUAHAHAHAHA! I promise I won't blackmail you guys anymore. ;-) I'm glad you like my fic! Keep reading...

**Rangergirl: **Well, the Bleeding Ears chapter wasn't exactly my most glamorous chapter, but orcs aren't very nice people. LoL, thanks for reviewing!

**Scarlett Red Rose: **Ok, I promise you I won't blackmail anyone else either. Oh, and too true about the life thing. High school doesn't help much either :-P. Come back soon!

**grumpy: **Well, Estel might make it to Yen, but he won't be in a position to enjoy it (wink wink). I hope this chapter answers your question about the orcs..... LoL thanks for reviewing!

**Stay tuned for the next chapter: To Dungeons Deep. **

**See the little "Submit Review" box in the left corner? It's a gooooood thing. **

**Chao chickos.**

**_CzechChicka_**


	4. To Dungeons Deep

**_There and Back Again_**

**Hola, mi amigos!**

**Thank you so much to ALL my loyal reviewers that I didn't have to blackmail glares at all who didn't review. LoL this chapter is kinda short, and pretty depressing, but the next one should be cute winks. I'm posting now cuz I just saw the stupid little sign that said I wouldn't be able to post from Sunday to TUESDAY! Argh! So, being the lovely person I am snorts are heard in the backround, I decided to post early again! Yay! **

**Ok, done now. Happy reading!**

* * *

**Chapter Four: To Dungeons Deep**

_Far over Misty Mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To seek the pale enchanted gold_

_For ancient king and elvish lord_

_There many a gleaming golden hoard_

_They shaped and wrought and light they caught_

_To hide in gems on hilt of sword_

_J.R.R. Tolkien_

Elladan tiptoed quietly down the stairs and out into the hall, carrying with him his bow, arrows, and the bridle for Valacirca. Praying silently to Illuvatar that his adar would still be fast asleep, he inched open the door, wincing when it creaked halfway through the process. Who had oiled these doors last, anyway? He looked around once more, checking his surroundings just in case his dear brother had decided to surprise him on his way out the door. Satisfied, he took a tentative step out of the door.

"Elladan," spoke a reprimanding voice from behind him. Dammit!

"Yes, adar?" he groaned, turning around to face the ancient elven lord.

"Just where do you think you're going?" he asked, cocking an apprehensive eyebrow. That was never a good sign.

"Uhh...hunting?" Elladan stuttered in reply. The eyebrow, if possible, rose even further up.

"At this hellish hour? We have enough supplies of meat to last an entire winter, which, may I remind you, doesn't roll around for another half a year. You're needed here," his father reprimanded. Elladan sighed. In truth, he had wanted nothing more than to get away from the monotonous daily councils in which he was 'needed for'. Very often now, envoys from Mirkwood had come as their spider problem had reached its climax. That in itself proved how dire their situation was if they were coming to beg for assistance in solving the epidemic.

"Ada, I simply just could not stand one more six hour council about nothing more than a spider overpopulation! I need air, trees, just about anything other than one more council! Please, adar, let me go," Elladan pleaded, hoping against hope that for once, just once, his father would give in. Elrond put on a face that suggested that he was considering, then smiled at the pleading look on his son's face.

"Ion-nin, you may go. There is to be no council today anyway, so you are free to go, but only until noontide. I want to speak with you, your brother, and Glorfindel about a pressing matter in the hall. Now go, and be back soon!" The surprise must have registered on Elladan's face, because his father chuckled softly and cried 'Go!' once more. Elladan grinned brilliantly, hugged the amused elf lord, and walked out the door.

"Elladan," Elrond called as his son was almost out of earshot, "I'm counting on you."

o-o-o

Darkness surrounded Estel as he awoke. He blinked, not quite sure of where he was, and tried desperately to remember how he had arrived here. He recalled huge, towering dark blotches hovering over him, and a deep, splitting pain in his head. He heard laughter resound in his head, dark, sadistic chuckles that haunted his very soul. He shivered, both from cold and from fright, and that was when he noticed the chains...

Some heavy weight pulled down his already weakened limbs. Shackles. He looked around, squinting his eyes in an effort to see past the suffocating darkness. What he saw did not make him feel overcome with joy.

In the distance, there was a faint gleam of dim light, peaking out of a barred window.

A BARRED window.

His heartbeat quickened, and he rolled onto his knees, feeling around with his hands and desperately searching for something that would make sense of what he was seeing.

But he felt nothing. Only more bars.

He was trapped.

o-o-o

"Master, we come bearing gifts," murmured a low, gravely voice. The hands around his arms felt cold and clammy, yet they were the only thing between him and the hard stone floor. His dark, bloodstained hair lay plastered to his face as he averted his eyes to the ground. Estel did not dare look up.

"He seems rather scrawny for an elf," remarked the man in front of Estel. His voice was high-pitched, yet gruff. He wore what would have been in fashion for rich landlords about 20 years prior, and his face was shallow and angular, with a prominent nose that ended sharply an inch from his face.

"'E's a youngin'," blurted the orc to Zughtuk's left, who was quickly silenced by a sharp elbow in the stomach.

"He has just come of age in his culture, almost a child," assured the unsightly captain. Estel scowled at the word "child", but held his tongue. He wasn't sure he could talk even if he tried. Zughtuk had made if excruciatingly clear on what was to be said to Vilgar, the orc party's "leader", and what was not to be said. Estel shifted his weight from one leg to the other, wincing as his now welted back screamed in protest.

Estel chanced a look up at his captor, who stood a few feet in front of him. The man smirked as he caught the helpless gleam in the young human's eye. He took a step closer, carefully examining his new addition. He'd amassed quite a horde of "servants" over the past few years, and if he did say so himself, it was quite a sight to see.

"What's your name?" he demanded, grabbing the so-called elf's chin between his thumb and forefinger.

No response.

"I'll ask you once more, and only once. What's-your-name?"

Estel remained stubbornly quiet.

Vilgar smirked once more, not at all set aback by this act of defiance on the elf's part. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. A malicious gleam sparkled in his eyes as his thoughts drifted to the race that this...thing...belonged to. Elves. Oh, how he hated them, and yet at the same time was fascinated by them. With their proud and haughty words, their abilities that excelled so much beyond that of human capability. Their stubbornness was told in every legend, every tale, and every myth that graced the land of Middle Earth. They were not an easy race to conquer.

It would make breaking him all the more enjoyable.

* * *

**Well, there you have it, chappy four all done! Thanks again to my reviewers:**

**grumpy: LoL, sorry, Estel's going to be detained for a VERY long time. Torture is so much more fun! Now excuse me while I hide from two identical yet scary looking elves. RoFl, thanks for readin'!**

**jacquelinestel: Blushes Thanks so much! And yeah, the title "Bleeding Ears" was probably much more revealing than it should have been, LoL. I promise I'll give Estel a break next chappy. ;-)**

**Dernhelm-caorann: Hmmmmm, not quite sure what you ment by "the canon is out", but I'll nod and pretend I do, LoL. Thanks so much for reviewing!!! :-)**

**elitenschwein: I'm going to write more about the dwarves in the later chapters, probably bout thier captivity in Mirkwood reporters take notes. LoL. Thanks so much!**

**Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all my reviewers!**

**Now, to all of you who have yet to review, please read the following list of unfortunate events that studies have shown could occur without proper response:**

**1) I will tie you to the back of my car and drag you down a dirt road at 60 mph.**

**2) I will pour an entire bag of salt on you.**

**3) I will cover you with honey and stick you in an ant hill.**

**4) And if you still don't review after that, then I'll really get nasty!**

**LoL, sorry, couldn't resist. I had a jazz teacher that always used to say that. Something about the consequences if we didn't hit our staccato notes. But he also called my trombone a sludge-pumber, so I don't know.**

**LoL, well I'd better go. I have a 3 minute speech to write about China and the UN (any advice will be much appreciated)!! **

**Hasta la vista, baby!**

**_CzechChicka_**


	5. Twinkle of Hope

**Hello all!**

**Well, this chapter has a little less angst than the others (sorry to all pain lovers out there), and is actually bordering on fluffy, though I'm not quite sure how good I am at writing fluffy fics, LOL. Anyway, I'm SO sorry I haven't posted all December. I ment to post on Christmas, but things got a little busy. So I'm posting today and hopefully will have another typed up for tomorrow! Crosses fingers**

**I hope you all had an awesome Christmas/Hanaka/Kwanza/Winter Solstice/ insert politically correct name for "Christmas" here>. LoL. Up here, all the snow melted the day before Christmas, how cheap is that? Arg! **

**By the way, has anyone seen the extended version of the Return of the King? I can't wait! I hear it's really really good.**

**So ya I'll stop babbling now. Hope you like this incredibly non-angsty chapter! ;-)**

* * *

**Namesake Chronicles:**

**There and Back Again**

**Chapter Five: Twinkle of Hope**

_Never made it as a wise man,_

_I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealin'._

_Tired of livin' like a blind man._

_I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling,_

_And this is how you remind me,_

_Of what I really am._

_This is how you remind me,_

_Of what I really am._

_Nickleback_

His chains clacked loudly against the cold, stone floor as he was led to his new cell. His head hung in despair. He had a feeling he was not in for an especially fun experience, and he had not made matters any better by being smart with "the master".

Estel had to try hard to suppress a groan of frustration. Every molecule of his being screamed against being owned by anyone, against being mastered by any other being. If there was one thing his ada had succeeded in teaching him, it was to be his own man. He would not serve such a vile and evil person, no matter what they did to him.

What grated against Estel's mind the most, however, was the hunch that he was not the only one to be held thus. Though his eyes were currently swollen closed from the punches the over-zealous orcs threw at him, he could here the slight, swift shuffling of elven boots, a sound that would escape most ears. Alas, not Estel, he had spent far too much time playing hide-and-seek with his brothers.

He stumbled and almost fell as a particularly vile orc in front of him tugged ruthlessly on his rusty chains. If his eyes could've opened, Estel would've sent a glare that would kill a full-grown ox.

No one, NO ONE, would master him.

Estel was jerked out of his thoughts as the party of three orcs grated to a halt before a particularly dim looking cell. Estel forced his left eye halfway open, letting in the minimal light that graced the bowels of the despicable castle. The grimy bars were spaced just close enough together that he couldn't make it all the way through, but with all the strange looking slime that covered them he wasn't sure he would want to anyway. The air was musty, and smelled of rotten food. He heard snuffles off in the far reaches of the tunnel, and absentmindedly wondered whom they could be coming from.

But at present, he had problems of his own.

Estel was shoved roughly into his prison, falling on his already bruised and bloody face. Without bothering to unlock his manacles, the orcs tramped off, laughing at some unknown and unappreciated humor. Estel clumsily rubbed his wrists and glared at the retreating backs of the orcs, muttering a few choice elven curse words under his breath. He stood up with what strength he had left and walked to the cell door. Looking down the hallway, he saw one long, dark tunnel. However, this one had no light at the other end. He hung his head in despair, kicking a stray rock with his bare foot.

That was when he heard the little voice across from him.

"_Yrch! Wethrinaer…yrch! Lye anta kel! Lye anta kel_! Orcs! Decietful one…orcs! We need to leave! We need to leave!" mumbled a distressed figure in his sleep. Estel cocked his head, studying the tiny body with pitiful eyes. The tinyfigure rocked back and forth, obviously distressed and panicked. The being's long, dirtied hair covered most of its face, but Estel caught the sight of a pointed ear as the figure rolled to one side. It was an elfling.

The young boy could not have been over fifty years old, an age of naive innocence for elves. His tattered tunic was the remains of a soft, green fabric that Estel had never seen before, though it seemed slightly familiar. Large, pointy ears were covered with slightly dirtied snow-white hair, only a little lighter than Glorfindel's, who was the only light-haired elf that Estel knew. His face was scrunched into an expression of pure terror, and he cried out again, his back arching as if out of pain. Estel started.

"_Echuio, pen-olthol!_ Wake up, dreaming one!" he pleaded, shaking the little one slightly. The elf's eyes snapped open, and he stared up in horror at Estel, and opened his mouth to scream. Estel quickly put his hand over the little one's mouth. They didn't need another excuse for the orcs to come back.

"_Shhhhhh. Naa sal, mellon-dithen. Men beriar aen._ Be still, little friend. We are safe," soothed Estel in soft elvish. The boy calmed, his breathing slowing to a few short gasps a minute, and tears started to form in his eyes. He looked up at Estel in silent wonder, taking in his swollen eyes, the crude, bloodstained bandage around his head, and the naked torso of his "savior". He had dark brown hair, something the little one had never seen before, and soft stubble was starting to sprout on his face. This stranger looked ragged and wild, yet as he looked into the blue-gray eyes of the dark-haired man, he could see understanding and kindness. However, could he trust him?

Too many times, the young elfling had been fooled into a trusting nature, and too many times had it led him to problems beyond his ability to cope with. He did not want to make that mistake again.

"_Ya naa lle?_ Who are you?" asked the young elfling. Estel smiled, knowing full well that this little boy might not know anything other than Sindarin, a language he knew all too well. He smiled kindly, and continued the conversation in elvish.

"My name is Estel, _pen-neth_, young one. What's yours?" Estel asked kindly. The elfling stared at him for a moment, gauging whether or not this new stranger was trustworthy. Estel must have passed the test, for the moment, for the elfling spoke in a quiet, trembling voice a moment later.

"Landolin." the boy replied quietly, a small blush shining through his tear-stained face. He shivered a little, rubbing his arms in an attempt to awaken his frozen limbs. Estel frowned, concerned. He thought elves weren't that affected by cold. He reached over his shoulder to take off his cloak to shelter the little one, only to remember that it now lay somewhere in the passes of the Misty mountains, buried under many feet of snow.

"Well, Landolin, it's nice to meet you, although I wish it could've been under better circumstances," said Estel, sighing at the thought of the dank dungeon. Landolin smiled back, although more tears fell from his eyes. Estel furrowed his eyebrows, wondering why someone so young was kept under such inhuman conditions, but decided to avoid the subject until the boy was more emotionally stable.

"Why are you here?" Landolin asked innocently. The boy's large green-blue eyes stared up at Estel, silently pleading that that reason was not related to master's notoriously short temper. The elfling's small figure leaned back against the wall, but the hiss of pain did not escape Estel's notice. He squinted through the darkness at the little-one's back, and gasped in surprise at what he saw.

"You're hurt!" Estel exclaimed, moving closer to Landolin. Landolin shifted positions, edging closer to the opposite wall in an attempt to stay out of reach of Estel's long arms.

"So are you," the little elf countered. Estel self-consciously touched the bandage over his ears, noting the dried blood that covered it and the dull headache he received every time something brushed against them.

"I'll live," he stated simply, scooting closer to Landolin. This time, the young elf stayed in his place, at last putting some substantial amount of faith in his cellmate. Estel hesitantly placed his hand on the elf's shoulder, and sighed in relief when the little one did not pull back. Slowly the young human lowered Landolin into a position where he was lying on his stomach and his back was exposed. The foster-son of Elrond grimaced as he saw the torture that such a small child was put through. Deep, numerous lacerations dotted the elfling's back, and Estel could see the white glint of bone in several places. Where there weren't cuts, dark blue bruises covered the fair-being's skin, hiding the true color of Landolin's back. Estel tentatively tested each bruise, muttering quick apologies to his patient as he did so, and to his dismay discovered that Landolin also sported several fractured ribs. It was more than any human child would have been able to take.

Thank the Valar that this one was of the eldar.

Estel, having few supplies with him, wondered at what he could do to ease this elf's pain. He had some athelas leaves in his boot, an annoying habit that his brothers had drilled into him over many hunting mishaps. He had next to no cloth at his disposal, let alone clean bandages to use. The young human took off his boot and reached into the toe of the boot, withdrawing a wonderfully fresh smelling plant. Landolin sniffed the air, and looked up when he caught the fresh scent.

"What's that?" he asked Estel curiously. Estel tore off a few leaves and held them in front of the elfling.

"It's a healing herb called 'athelas'," Estel told him. Landolin squinted, picking up a solitary leaf between two fingers.

"What's it do?" he asked. Estel laughed.

"You mean besides heal?" he suggested. Landolin couldn't suppress the giggles that formed in his throat at that comment, and he nodded, telling Estel to go on. "Well, they are wonderful for numbing," he continued, crushing the delicate leaves in his fists, "and, as you can probably tell, they have a very fresh scent." He breathed in deeply, remembering the first time his father had taught him to use they mysterious plant so many years ago in his mind. He glanced at the now crumpled leaves in the palm of his hand, and pondered what to do with them next. Usually, if time and supplies permitted, the athelas would have to be boiled in a pot of water. However, without even looking around, Estel could tell that such an act would be impossible. Shrugging almost imperceptibly, he popped the green herb into his mouth and chewed, squinting his eyes as he did so. Athelas may smell like a new spring day, but it tasted like his father's sleeping tea- bitter and sharp.

After he had done this, Estel took the paste out of his mouth and began gently applying the anesthetic to the young elf's back, smiling as the blonde boy sighed in relief. He worked in silence for a few moments, and then Landolin began talking again.

"You still haven't answered my question," he stated simply. Estel cocked an eyebrow.

"What question?" he mumbled, still concentrating on the little one's back.

"Why are you here?" he repeated his earlier inquiry, lifting his head again as he spoke. Estel gently pushed it back down.

"You know as much as I do," Estel replied. Landolin, however, was far from satisfied. He shifted his position slightly, propping his chin up on his arms, and spoke again, staring out past the bars that imprisoned them and imagining that fields of grass and trees as green as an emerald spread as far as the eye could see.

"Well then, where are you from?" asked the boy. Estel closed his eyes, imagining his own home. His ada smiled at him in his mind's eye, and he heard the laughter of his two quarreling adopted brothers in the back round. Opening his eyes again, he glanced around the dim cell they were trapped in, and then at the softly glowing body next to him on the ground.

"I was raised in Imladris, under the care of Lord Elrond," Estel told Landolin. Landolin started when he heard the last comment. He looked up at Estel, new admiration brimming in his eyes.

"You are a son of Elrond?" the elfling gasped. Estel nodded, only half-lying, he reminded himself.

"Yes, and also in a lot of trouble whenever I get out of here," he mused. Landolin laughed, and Estel laughed with him. For a moment, aside from the dark, dank cell that smelled of dead rats and the deep feeling of imprisonment, the two new friends shared a brief moment of happiness.

The heavy clunk clunk clunk of booted footsteps reached the pair's ears a moment later.

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**There you are! Hope you liked it! **

**Well, I don't have time to reply to any reviews this time, sorry. I'm heading to the library to study for finals insert censored word here>. But thanks to everyone who took the time to review!! hint hint **

**The next chapter doesn't have a title yet, but I promise I'll try my best to get it in by tomorrow. **

**Chao!!!**

**_CzechChicka_**


	6. Turbaned Stranger

**Hey everyone!!**

**I'm so sorry I didn't get to post a new chapter on New Years but my dad was kinda hogging the computer, LoL. That and I have semester finals this week gags, so I'm running on adrenaline and caffine. **

**Anyway, this chapter is kind of in between long and short. It's not quite so angsty (but I promise later chapters will be chocked full of angst ;-)) , but it's not really fluffy either. Just read, you'll see! **

**Ok, enough blabbing. On with the show!!**

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**Chapter Six: Turbaned Stranger**

**_I walk a lonely road_**

**_The only one that I have ever known_**

**_I don't know where it goes_**

**_But it's home to me,_**

**_And I walk alone._**

**_I walk this empty street_**

**_On this boulevard of broken dreams_**

**_Where the city sleeps_**

**_I'm the only one_**

**_And I walk alone._**

**_Greenday_**

Two cloaked strangers fought their way slowly through the bone chilling winds and the heavily falling sleet that plagued the passage through the Misty Mountains. Though summer was at it's height and the land surrounding the mountains was warm and humid, the mountains seemed to be a foreboding island of the winter to come, allowing any that dared traverse the lonely stone paths no rest. They had long ago abandoned their horses, trusting that they would find a safe passage home through the raging winds. The travelers seemed undaunted, however, by the fact that they had no beasts of burden to aid them on the long, perilous road.

Of coarse, that could have been because it was harder to ride a horse through snow that it was to walk on top of it.

The figure in the lead spotted a rocky overhand as they rounded the corner, signaling for his partner to follow him into the shelter. The latter nodded, and turned with determination toward the rocky refuge. Under the overhang, the winds had slowed to a gentle yet annoying breeze, and the falling sleet was greatly reduced. The two travelers slipped the hoods off their heads and looked at each other.

To one who wasn't very familiar with those of the elven race, the two before them would seem to be nearly identical. Both of the elves in question sported waist length blonde hair, smooth and braided in a way that only the eldar could achieve. Their pointed ears stuck out amid the locks of flowing hair, distinguishing them from men. Both elves seemed to glow with an unearthly light, which reflected off the snow and provided a dim light in the darkness of the mountain range. As they tossed their packs to the ground, the pair looked again at each other and smiled.

The slightly shorter elf with sandy-blonde hair sighed in exasperation, shaking out his dark green cloak. "Look at this! Do you see this? I hope you're happy, I don't think I've ever been so wet in my entire life," he whined in a very un-elvish way, gesturing to the droplets that dripped from his weather-beaten garb. The other elf laughed, a musical laugh that all but drowned out the back round noise of the raging wind.

"Feolin, you complain too much. Anyway, I know for a fact that you were much more entirely soaked long before this," retorted the other, cocking an amused eyebrow. Feolin frowned.

"When?" he questioned skeptically, crossing his arms in challenge of the other's accusation.

"When my sister and I pushed you into my father's personal bath. You were lucky he wasn't in there at the time."

Feolin's eyes sparked as he was reminded of the occasion, and he huffed indignantly. "That wasn't funny, Legolas. The guards thought I was an assassin, and the king wouldn't take his eye off me for a month!" he exclaimed. Legolas laughed.

"Oh, come off it. You know you deserved it after that stunt you pulled during the annual hunt!" he countered. Feolin scoffed.

"How was I supposed to know that your horse would bolt like that?" he reasoned, throwing a particularly nasty glare at his elven counterpart.

The two friends bickered playfully, a monumental effort to forget the real reason they had traveled miles and miles through wind and snow. They did not want to remember the faces of the tortured victims that swarmed in their minds day in and day out, causing horrible nightmares and depriving the elves of much needed sleep.

For over three years now, elves from the kingdom of Mirkwood would travel through the mountains to Rivendell, were sent out to patrol the outer regions of the forest, or any other imaginable thing outside the elven refuge, never again to return. The inhabitants of the once Greenwood mourned the loss of their neighbors, but dismissed it as nothing more than an unfortunate incident, an accident, a coincidence, but over the years, the number of the missing slowly grew higher, and the days between the disappearances were less and less. The king had suspected something was amiss when an entire family of 4 was discovered missing, but had no clues as to where to begin searching. Perhaps the spiders that inhabited the corrupted forest were becoming bolder and more numerous, but deep in his heart he doubted that the answer would be that simple.

The answers to such dark happenings were never so simple.

Under the shelter of the rocky overhang, the two elven companions talked quietly now amongst themselves, opening their packs and removing various articles of clothing, a golden brooch, and a pair of rusty, haphazard manacles. Legolas and Feolin removed their outer tunics and stuffed them quickly back into their travel-worn packs. Feolin watched as Legolas donned plain white tunic adorned with a noble looking violet robe, which was fastened with the golden brooch. Gathering his long, blonde hair in his hands, he proceeded to wrap a golden silk scarf around his head, effectively constructing a makeshift turban. He felt around the area of his ears, making certain that the pointed tips were well hidden, when he turned with a regretful sigh toward his best friend, holding out the opened manacles. Feolin gave his long time friend a forced half-smile, holding out his wrists in silent permission. Legolas muttered a quick apology as he fastened the bindings loosely around his companion's wrists.

The Prince of Mirkwood stepped back, admiring his handiwork. For this ruse to work, the pair had to appear as if they were nothing more than a conceited Haradrim lord and an unfortunate elvish slave, traveling to negotiate a slave trade. The very idea fade the Prince feel sick to his stomach, but he supposed that at least in this case, the end justified the means.

Finally satisfied with their disguises, Legolas picked up both of their packs, which were now considerably lighter, and strapped them to Feolin's back. Legolas knew full well that no proper Haradrim noble would carry his own baggage if he had a slave at his disposal, and here appearances meant everything. He looked once more at Feolin, mussing up the elf's carefully braided hair for good measure. Feolin glared at Legolas' smirking face, and the two strode purposefully out of their temporary shelter, and back into the raging winds of the Misty Mountains.

o-o-o

Grandaen paced nervously in front of two enormous mahogany doors. He anxiously straightened his uniform overcoat with one hand, running the other through his hair simultaneously. He looked down the hallway to his right for the fifth, time in two minutes, wondering where in the name of Elbereth his employer was. The party from Harad would literally be arriving at any moment, and the middle-aged butler had no idea what he was supposed to do with the incoming guests. Vilgar had left strict instructions to let no one pass the doors, seeing as he was busy questioning an elf that had arrived earlier that day, but he seemed to have forgotten that he had some very important guests coming today.

Very important as in Grandaen's well being depended on his not messing up. Again.

But in this situation, the underpaid servant was truly in a dilemma. If he let the travelers in while his master was in the middle of an important matter, he would be thrown out into the raging blizzard, minus his protective clothing. If he caused the Haradrim to leave, however, the whole messy ordeal could turn deadly for him.

He gulped, glancing out the window once more and seriously considered running into the dungeons and locking himself inside the darkest cell, when he heard the lion-headed iron knocker signal that the long-awaited guests had finally arrived.

He sniffed sardonically. Long-awaited indeed.

Putting on the most cheerful face he could manage, Grandaen opened the great doors, bowing as two figures as different as night and day walked proudly through the opening.

The first man was dressed magnificently, with a golden turban made of silk and an expensive looking purple cloak. An intricate, gold and silver brooch in the shape of a palm leaf secured the violet cloak around his neck, marking him as one of noble descent, and he walked tall and proud. /His face surprised Grandaen, however. It was so…young. The man couldn't have been over the age of twenty-five, and he couldn't help but think to himself that the young lord looked much too pale to have originated in the deep south.

The being that trailed sadly behind the first was not a man at all, but an elf; a wood elf most likely from what the servant could tell. His chest was bare, covered in dirt and grime that smothered the unearthly glow that emanated from him. Grandaen averted his eyes from the elf almost as soon as he saw him. He never liked the way his master treated the ancient beings; in fact, he would have confronted Vilgar about it if he hadn't seen what had happened to the butler before him.

Shaking the horrible image from his head, Grandaen shut the doors and turned to the new arrivals.

"Welcome, Lord Bakadal," he said, bowing to the turbaned young man, "we have long been awaiting your arrival."

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**Well, I hope you liked this chapter. Yes, yes, to all you Cassia fans, I did steal the turban idea from her stories, but I take absolutetly no credit for it!! Translation: NO FLAMES!! Ha ha well anyway, once again I don't have time to salute all you loyal reviewers, but thank you so much for giving me some feedback!! It made me smile, LoL.**

**Ok, little preview for the next chapter: it involves a lavish dinner and not-so-obedient slaves. ;-)**

**All right, must now go study for finals. Pray for me, lol!!**

**Hasta luego!!**

**_CzechChicka_**


	7. Shattered Glass

**Hey everybody!**

**Yea, yea, I know what you're thinking... NO, NOT THAT! LoL, yes, she finally updated! Would you like to hear my sob story? Too bad, you get to anyway: I was dragged to a family cabin over the weekend, totally devoid of phones, computers, and overall ELECTRICITY! LoL, so, as you can see, I've been kind of prevented from finishing the chapter. But here it finally is!**

**Just a little F.Y.I., my posting schedule will probably be a little off for the rest of the story, considering that I have tons of homework and a full schedule. I'm trying out for the school play: Godspell! Wish me luck! Anyway, I'll try to update on a generally weekly basis, but if the chapter doesn't show up by Sunday night, please don't kill me ducks flying tomatoes.**

**Ok, enough of my babbling. Bon voyage, worthy readers!! ;-) **

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**Chapter Seven: Shattered Glass**

_Don't tell me what to think,_

_'Cause I don't care this time._

_Don't tell me what to believe,_

_'Cause you won't be there._

_Don't tell me how life is,_

_'Cause I don't really want to know._

_Don't tell me how this game ends,_

_'Cause we'll just see how it goes._

"Faster, you filth!" growled Zughtuk, tugging harshly on the rope around Estel's wrists. Estel hissed in pain as the ropes re-opened partially healed wounds, and began to stain once again with his blood. The young man glared at the orc captain behind his closed eyelids, resolving to considerably shorten this one's life once he had gotten out of this retched place.

Estel opened his eyes once more and looked slowly around him as he half-jogged to keep up with his captor. He was no longer in the dungeons, where Zughtuk had taken him from his cell moments earlier. Instead, he was in a brightly lit hallway, with bright white-marble floors covered by even more extravagant burgundy rugs. The ceiling hung at least twenty feet over Estel's bowed head, and more than five men could possibly walk abreast in the wide and empty hall. This must be his personal palace, thought Estel with intense loathing for the man called Vilgar. The colorful passageways were a far cry from dark and dank dungeons below.

Zughtuk stopped suddenly at a small door at the end of the hallway, and Estel almost ran headlong into the disgruntled orc. Knocking harshly on the door, the pair waited for entry to be granted to them. The door cracked open barely an inch, revealing a crystal blue eye surrounded by pale white skin. After scrutinizing the orc and man, she opened the door wider for them to enter. Zughtuk yanked on the roped tied to Estel once more, pulling the young human off his feet and landing him face first on the cold, marble floor.

The blue-eye's owner glared mercilessly at the orc captain, who merely laughed at her and strode over to the room's only chair, watching and waiting for something that Estel knew not. The blue-eyed figure sighed almost imperceptibly, and then turned to the fallen figure of Estel. Estel's shame did not allow him to look up at her, but she didn't seem to mind. Gently, she removed the cruel ropes that bound his hands, tossing them to the side in disgust. Then, she spoke softly to Estel, so that the orc behind them could not hear.

"U-ado chin din. Sedho men beriar aen. Do not attract their attention. Be calm, we are safe," she whispered soothingly as she saw the tremors that ran up and down Estel's spine. She looked upon him with deep sympathy, but she did not have time to comfort him further. Zughtuk had heard her words, and glared at her with intense loathing in his eyes. He jumped up quickly and savagely backhanded her. A streak of bright crimson blood appeared on her fair white cheek.

"Quit your elf-talk and hurry up, scum. The master is waiting," he snarled dangerously at the she-elf. The elf cast her eyes down, though unseen went the fiery anger at the injustice of the horrible place. She resumed her task of caring for the dark-haired being, wondering slightly at the bloody bandage around his ears. She went to remove it, but as a result was once again backhanded by the vicious captain. A second red streak painted her face. "Don't touch that," commanded Zughtuk, returning once again to the wooden chair on the opposite side of the room.

"If you speak to him again, it's the goroth for him," Zughtuk added, smiling to himself at the spark of horror that crossed the she-elf's face, only to once again be submerged under a mask of unconcern.

Zughtuk watched as she returned to her task of cleaning the young man. Elves. Supposedly the wisest of Illuvatar's children, both immortal and possessing strange gifts that belonged only to the race of the eldar, they repeatedly appeased the dwellers of Arda with their disgusting nobility and unstoppable bravery. Did they ever learn? While they seemed to have no concern for their own well being when in came to the protection of their damned pride and values, the seemingly unshakable beings would do anything when the life of another was threatened. Yes, anything.

The orc captain smiled sinisterly to himself. The slaves had discovered the torment of witnessing the pain of others many, many times over. But he looked once more at the young human that sat hunched over on the floor of the kitchen. Would this filthy thing bow to the same horror that could sway the elves, or would he have to devise a more sinister way to make this young one obey?

Yes, he chuckled to himself, this is a challenge I'll enjoy immensely.

o-o-o

Estel sagged against the stone wall behind him as he tried to stay standing. The kind she-elf had cared for him gently, cleaning the dirt from him and dressing him in white servant's robe. His head was still bandaged with a bloodstained cloth, but that couldn't be helped. The orc had become very miffed when his caretaker had tried to remove it. His ears itched furiously from being wrapped in a soiled bandage, and the smell of sweat and blood was making the young human nauseous. He cocked his head to the side, attempting vainly to rub his irritated ears on his shoulder, but succeeded only in sloshing red wine on his clean linen robe. He winced. Vilgar defiantly wouldn't like that very much.

He wore no chains now, and the thought of escape had crossed his mind more than once, but if he had been able to maneuver the winding halls regardless of the pain in his back and head, guards were posted at every exit, each carrying with them a sparkling dagger and a spiked whip. Estel highly doubted that he would be able to evade the six soldiers posted at the door to his left, and the passage to his right was locked. Escape was not an option.

Estel sighed, gazing into the deep red pools of the liquid that he carried in a medium-sized glass pitcher. He could barely hold the lavish container without sloshing the precious wine over the sides, but he hardly cared. His thoughts slowly drifted from the cold, stone halls of the Misty Mountains back to the warm, welcoming halls of Imladris. He closed his eyes and turned his face upward, imagining a gentle breeze that caressed his face as he lay in the soft, green grass that bordered the riverbank. He could almost hear the jovial laughter of elvish voices in the background.

His home.

He laughed to himself silently. Merely a month or so ago (he couldn't be sure, as he had lost all track of time completely), he had been worried about making it to the Yen celebration in time to see the traditional drunken twins and their fanatics. Now, however, he lay rotting in the most forgotten corner of the world, serving pungent wine to a conceited lord who found it amusing to enslave elves and force them to serve his every whim. He felt as if he could punch a hole right through the wall with the force of his anger, and he would have, too, if he had not been hampered by the burden of the pitcher. Instead, he contented himself with the activity of attempting to bore a hole in the floor with his eyes, channeling his fear, anxiety, disgust, and deep longing for revenge through two silver-rimmed pupils.

He was interrupted from his thoughts as he heard a commotion right outside the locked door to his right. He looked up; standing up in the proper posture that Zughtuk had been so strict about. He cocked his head slightly, concentrating on the noises that ventured ever so much nearer with each passing second. The noise of stomping feet and clinking metal became louder and louder, until Estel could faintly make out the sound of a key sliding into a lock. The door slowly opened, revealing a strange array of beings.

Vilgar, of coarse, had been the first to enter. He was dressed more royally than the captured man had seen him before, with a flowing red robe tied over his shoulders and a silver circlet adorned with an emerald as big as Estel's thumb on his head. He was the perfect picture of a man who couldn't help but flaunt his vast horde of riches, and he seemed unabashed by that fact. He was followed by several men that Estel couldn't remember seeing before, but he guessed that they too lived in the mansion.

The two that strode behind Vilgar and the few men were puzzlingly similar, yet opposite all at the same time. The first wore a great, golden turban upon his head, and looked to be a nobleman of great power. He walked with a long, graceful gait, and the long hems of his robes gave the illusion that the young lord floated over the surface of the floor. His face, however betrayed his youth, though the young lord seemed unperturbed by the age difference between him and his host.

Behind him, connected to the turbaned lord in front of him by a long piece of rope, was a sight that severely shocked Estel's very being. A blonde, beaten, and dirtied elf came with his head hung low, struggling to keep up with his captors. Estel's heart burned within him. He knew, of coarse, that Vilgar had kept elven slaves within these halls, but the actual sight of an elven prisoner was much more effective than mere knowledge. He gripped the handle of the glass pitcher tightly, gritting his teeth at the abominable sight.

Vilgar didn't notice the odd behavior from his new slave, however. He had much more important matters to attend to.

"Please, Lord Bakadal, sit, sit! The food will come to us," beckoned Vilgar, seating himself at the head of the table. He watched, smiling slyly, as the turbaned figure- Lord Bakadal- gingerly seated himself on Vilgar's right hand side. The imprisoned elf remained standing. Lord Bakadal glanced quickly around the room, his eyes landing on Estel for half a moment, and then turned back to his host. Vilgar was whispering something hurriedly into a guard's ear, who promptly trotted off to complete the task that his master had given him. Bakadal waited politely until Vilgar had finished.

"My Lord, your halls are quite…astounding," he mused, and Estel noted that the words seemed slightly forced, "However, I must inquire upon the condition in which your…erm…possessions are kept. I will not negotiate a trade over a useless elf." Vilgar only smiled at this comment.

"Ah, I see you've discovered my newest addition," he said, gesturing with his hands that he wanted Estel to come over. Estel briefly considered ignoring the pompous slave driver out of pure spite, but did not wish to garner any more trouble…for himself or others. He took a few steps toward Vilgar, stopping just out of arm's reach of either lord.

"Yes, he's a rare one, isn't he? The only dark-haired one I've ever come across. Quite stubborn too…but breakable, oh yes, that is most certain."

Bakadal frowned, furrowing his eyebrows as he scrutinized the so-called 'new addition'. He'd never seen a wood elf with dark hair before that was for sure. In fact, the last dark-haired elf he had seen had been much farther north, and many, many years before. He turned back to Vilgar, posing his next inquiry.

"Well, I am quite curious as to what happened to his head. He hasn't been permanently damaged, I hope?" questioned the turbaned lord. Vilgar laughed, shaking his head.

"No, no, except for perhaps a few lost memories and, no doubt, intelligence, he's perfectly fine. It's a result of his capture, I'm afraid. Elves require a firm hand in the beginning, but after you've broken them…" he let his sentence trail off cryptically, "Ah, but now is not the time for such talk. Dinner has arrived!"

And so it had. Dozens of human servants filed in, carrying with them a plump, juicy looking turkey that made the pit of Estel's stomach growl. Apples, nuts, fresh bread, sweet mashed potatoes, blueberry pie, the list went on and on. As more servants filed in, the area of space on the table grew smaller and smaller, until the last dish of lemon pudding had to be held rather than placed on the table. Estel looked longingly at the food, remembering dismally what his last meal had consisted of: raw intestine.

Estel jerked when he heard the sharp snap of a finger right next to his ear. He turned, only to see Vilgar snapping at him impatiently, looking commandingly from the pitcher in Estel's hands to the golden goblet in front of him, clearly wanting the wine to be poured. Lord Bakadal waited with baited breath; knew, he did, the stubbornness of elves, especially when forced to do something against their will. He watched as the beaten looking slave bit his lower lip with determination…

…and took a step back.

Lord Vilgar's eyes widened, glaring both shocked and angrily at his disobedient slave. He stared into Estel's eyes for what seemed like forever, having a silent battle of wills.

"Come," he commanded in a deep, authoritative voice. Another moment passed…

…and Estel took yet another step back.

Furious, Vilgar stood so quickly that his chair tipped over backwards. Bakadal jumped, and secretly shared a nervous glance with the blonde elf behind him. They turned once again to the confrontation, and noted that Vilgar was now standing merely feet from Estel, towering over the young slave, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"Pour the wine, NOW," Vilgar said once more, somehow managing to keep the level of his voice safely out of shouting range, though his red face told a different story. Estel looked Vilgar defiantly in the eye, standing up as straight as his injured body would let him.

The last thing he remembered doing before the world went black was dropping the full pitcher to the floor.

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**Did ya'll like the chapter? Please say yes! Don't worry, Estel's not dead, just is going to have a severe headache when he wakes up grins evilly. **

**I'd like to, for once, thank my reviewers!!**

**Jaquelinestel: Awww, you like my fluff? You rock! LoL, well, I actually passed my exams with flying colors, even though I didn't study very much blushes. Must have been the luck you gave me... ;-)**

**Grumpy: He he he, Legolas and Feoling are definately in for much more than they've bargained for. Thanks so much for reviewing!**

**Cosmic Castaway: Glad I've got your attention! Well, here you go, hope you liked it. Thanks again!**

**Again, thanks to everyone who reviewed.**

**I'm gonna leave you guys on a little cliffhanger for a while. The next chapter probably won't be about Estel, but it'll have action, I promise.**

**Don't forget to review!!**

**Hasta luego,**

**_CzechChicka_**


	8. With Beards all AWagging

**Buenas Noches, everyone!**

**Yes, yes, I know that I've been gone a very loooong time, but I'M SORRY! I had this massive bout of writer's block and the doctor said that I had to stay off the keyboard for at least 3 weeks. ;-) No, not really, but isn't that a good excuse?**

**Anyway, here's the long-awaited chapter, peeps! Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Eight: With Beards all A-Wagging**

**_Oh, where are you going,_**

**_With beards all a-wagging?_**

**_No knowing, no knowing,_**

**_What brings Mister Baggins,_**

**_And Balin and Dwalin_**

**_Down into the valley_**

**_In June._**

Bilbo Baggins was NOT a happy hobbit.

_No food, no rest, and bother it all, a dirty handkerchief! _he thought to himself, glaring at the ominous looking storm clouds from under curly brown hair. The terrain of the road they were traveling on (if you could even call it a road) didn't make matters any better, either. The steep, rocky path seemed to go on forever, leading into a distant valley that none of them could yet see. The very air around them felt damp, and Bilbo had a feeling that the moisture would only multiply as he glanced up at the rain clouds above them yet again. He slapped his arm suddenly as yet another horse fly decided to prey upon him, leaving a light red hand mark across his forearm.

Oh, yes, Bilbo was definitely not pleased.

Bilbo and the company of dwarves had been traveling for nearly a month now, braving raging waters (he shuttered as he remembered what had happened to the remainder of their fresh food), trolls, and crude dwarfish humor. He huffed, wondering why on earth he had decided that an adventure such as this maybe wouldn't be that bad. Uncle Longo had been right: 'Adventures make you late for dinner,' he had once said to the young, eager hobbit lad. Eager for excitement and discovery, Bilbo had protested vigorously, insisting that dinner could wait if such an adventure made him tardy.

Oh, what a misguided child he had been.

Bilbo was torn from his thoughts as his pony stumbled over yet another loose stone, sending the poor hobbit sliding forward against the animal's neck. He grabbed the pony's mane just in time to save himself from an unpleasant landing on the rocky path. He held his breath for a moment, bracing himself against the unfamiliar gait of the pony, and slowly pushed himself back into a steady position. Bilbo took a deep breath, calming his poor nerves after the last episode, and perked his ear when he heard the dwarves murmuring something to each other in low tones. Leaning forward, he tried to make out what they were saying, but he never heard, because Gandalf spoke at long last at that very moment.

"Here it is at last!" he announced to the exhausted party. And indeed they were. Bilbo watched as relieved smiles found their ways onto his companions' faces, knowing full well that he must have been positively beaming. Bilbo dimly noted the sound of rushing water as he gazed longingly at the tall, gleaming buildings that made up the elven haven of Rivendell. The elegant wooden structures graced the bottommost area of the valley, radiating the best elven craftsmanship that Bilbo had ever seen in his entire life (not that he'd seen much, mind you). A few elves walked here and there, talking amongst each other and plainly enjoying the evening air.

Gandalf started down the steep hillside again, and Bilbo was hard-pressed to tear his eyes away from the awe inspiring sight. Too slowly for comfort, the dwarves and hobbit pressed on down the road, thinking of the warm beds and hot plates that awaited them in the valley. But even with these things in mind, Bilbo couldn't help but notice that ominous snickers seemed to be coming from the very trees themselves. As they continued farther downward, the laughter increased, until (much to Gandalf's dismay), the laughter turned to song:

_O! What are you doing,_

_And where are you going?_

_Your ponies need shoeing!_

_The river is flowing!_

_O! tra-la-la-lally_

_here down in the valley!_

_O! What are you seeking,_

_And where are you making?_

_The faggots are reeking,_

_The bannocks are baking!_

_O! tril-lil-lil-lolly_

_the valley is jolly,_

_ha! ha!_

_O! Where are you going_

_With beards all a-wagging?_

_No knowing, no knowing_

_What brings Mister Baggins_

_And Balin and Dwalin_

_down into the valley_

_in June_

_ha! ha!_

_O! Will you be staying,_

_Or will you be flying?_

_Your ponies are straying!_

_The daylight is dying!_

_To fly would be folly,_

_To stay would be jolly_

_And listen and hark_

_Till the end of the dark_

_to our tune_

_ha! ha!_

Bilbo rolled his eyes. What had they gotten themselves into?

Just then a tall, dark haired elf stepped out of the trees, bowing to Gandalf and Thorin. More voices rang from the trees, as if beginning a new song, but a few choice glares from the elf silenced them. Turning back to Gandalf, the elf smiled as one would when talking to an old friend, and began speaking to him in rapid elfish. As the conversation continued, the jovial glint in the elf's eye slowly disappeared, and his relaxed posture went suddenly tense. A few moments later, their speaking ended abruptly, and the elf turned with a forced smile to Thorin.

"Welcome to the valley!"

o-o-o

_There is nothing better than a full stomach while listening to elfish singing_, thought Bilbo, taking another puff from his pipe. A gentle gust of a warm summer breeze ruffled his hair, and he closed his eyes, relishing his first rest in a very, very long time. He didn't know how long he stood there, deeply inhaling the smoky scent of Old Toby, but it seemed all too soon when his peace was interrupted by two voices in a heated argument.

The voices, both coming from the garden below the balcony he stood on, were male, and though they were hushed, the emotion behind the words was more than obvious. Young Mister Baggins squinted his eyes, trying to make out the dim figures in the night air. The first one he easily recognized as the elf they had seen earlier on the road to Rivendell, but it took a second for him to make out the second. When he did, his eyes widened as he realized that the taller, older elf was in fact Lord Elrond himself.

Elrond was speaking again, and though he wasn't usually one for eavesdropping, Bilbo leaned forward over the balcony rail to hear what was being said.

"No, no, NO! I forbid it!" Elrond hissed, attempting to stare down his younger companion. The other elf straightened to meet the elder's gaze, repeating his old argument yet again.

"Ada, he's my brother. I can't just leave him out there! Who knows where he could be by now?" Elrond sighed, massaging his temple with a long, slender finger.

"He'll only be angry with you. He said it himself: he doesn't want anyone to help him this time. He needs to do this by himself," argued the elf lord logically. The other stared defiantly back.

"It's been two months. Two MONTHS, Ada! Gandalf has already arrived here, and he told me himself that he hasn't seen Estel since Bree. Where could he have gone? He should have been back last month."

Elrond sighed in defeat. "Elladan, that's besides the point. I need you here, ion-nin. We have other riders for things like this. Trust me, I understand your concern more than you could know, but I need you now," he said. It was not a request. But as though the younger elf-Elladan- hadn't heard the tone in Elrond's voice, he gave his solemn, final reply.

"Goodbye, Ada," he said. And with that, he strode purposefully in the opposite direction.

Elrond did not even bother to walk after his son as he cried to him.

"Elladan!"

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**There you have it, chapter eight over and done with! Hope you liked it-)**

**Once again, thanks to all my reviewers:**:

**viggomaniac- No, I was thinking more along the lines of morphine, asprin just doesn't seem strong enough. He he, sorry I updated really, really late, but at least it wasn't a cabin this time!**

**jacquelinestel and wackoranger** - **Well, until further notice, I'm going to have to go with the foolhardy slant, LoL. Thanks so much for reviewing, glad you liked it!**

**grumpy- Hey, thanks for the review, but you'll just have to wait to find out! ;-)**

**Teha- What are you talking about? I so totally meant to put 'fade' there! Duh! LoL, j/k. Thanks for the review! P.S.-I have to agree with you on the hair issue, it's just that Vilgar might get jeleous. We don't want any hard feelings now, LoL.**

**elitenschwein- Hey, don't worry, there's gonna be a LOT more Estel in defiance issues here! True, Estel might notlike it, but we do! LoL, thanks so much!**

**And to all of you who have yet to review...DO IT NOW! LoL, can you tell that I'm a little hyper?**

**Well, I must go now. Don't forget to check out my webpage, I'm updating it this week! I think I'm going to put up a newsletter and there'll be elvish translations and all that stuff, so yea. Just go to my bio page to get the link.**

**Adios, mi amigos!**

**_CzechChicka_**


	9. Burning Embers

**Hey everyone!**

**Wow. It's been a really, really long time since I last posted. I'm so sorry for the wait! I guess that this was just a difficult chapter to write for some reason. I think I have chronic writer's block or something, LoL. **

**Anyway, here's chapter nine finally! I don't have much time before I have to go right now, so I'm just going to say enjoy!**

**;-)**

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**Chapter Nine: Burning Embers**

_**Catch me as I fall**_

_**Say you're here and it's all over now**_

_**Speaking to the atmosphere**_

_**No one's here and I fall into myself**_

_**This truth drives me into madness**_

_**I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away**_

_**Don't turn away**_

_**Don't give in to the pain**_

_**Don't try to hide**_

_**Though they're screaming your name**_

_**Don't close your eyes**_

_**God knows what lies behind them**_

_**Don't turn out the light**_

_**Never sleep, never die**_

_**Evanescence**_

More days than Estel could count had passed since his last meeting with the visiting lord, days marked only by the single bowl of gruel that he received once every morning. Ever since his last defiance toward Vilgar, he had been exiled from the surface world, forced to toil day and night in the furnace room deep beneath the lowest floor of the fortress. Shoveling coal, day in and day out, with no company, little clothing, and no breaks save for the few hours he was allowed to sleep; Estel began to wonder if he would ever escape the horrid place. He dragged a lethargic hand across his sweaty brow, vainly trying to wipe away both dirt and perspiration. Positioning the shovel carefully, he dug deep into the endless pit of black rock and tossed yet another load into the blazing furnace.

Silence. If there was one good thing about the place, it was that no orcs served as cruel taskmasters in the bowels of the fortress. But then again, he didn't even need one. If anyone in the upper rooms felt even a slight chill, his meal for the day was gone.

As he threw one last shovel full into the blaze, he dropped the shovel dazedly from his hands and collapsed against the slick, grimy wall. His breathing was rapid, his chest rising and falling in time with his beating heart. He could hear nothing for the pounding that seemed to fill his head, and his nose was clogged with ashes that he had inhaled over a prolonged amount of time in the furnace room. Nevertheless, he smiled slightly as he relaxed into what he had begun to consider a comfortable position, and closed his eyes. A few moments rest wouldn't hurt, surely…

…as long as he didn't loose track of time.

Again.

Sitting there, watching the shadows of flames dance against the walls, Estel's mind began to wander, his thoughts drifting, once again as they had many times before, to his home in Imladris and his ada. Had Elrond begun wondering where his adopted son was yet, or were celebrations still in the process? Was someone searching for him, combing the vast corners of Middle Earth? Why hadn't they found him yet? Had they already visited this place while he was stuck in this infernal pit?

Did they even want to find him?

o-o-o

"Have you located the dark-haired one yet?" Legolas whispered fervently to his companion.

Feolin was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor like the horrible orc captain had instructed him. It had taken all of his willpower to keep his temper in check as the arrogant creature laughed at his position. It was only more frustrating knowing that he could have had that disgusting creature's head rolling on the floor in a second if it didn't mean blowing his cover. Legolas could tell just by looking at him that he was one unhappy elf.

Over the last month and a half, he and Legolas had spent their days in the castle, feigning interest in Vilgar's activities while they awaited the arrival of a contingent the king's men, who should've been arriving any day. So far, they had managed to locate every elf in the entire fortress (which expanded into a very large number), except for the one dark-haired elf that they had encountered on their first day. Feolin's fear was that the poor soul had been killed for his disobedience, but he was loath to voice that opinion to his prince.

"No, actually, not yet. I searched the kitchens again today, and I even took a peak into the orc's barracks, but I haven't seen a trace of him," he replied, rolling back onto his heals as he finished the last of the monotonous task. He repressed the strong desire to toss the soiled rag at the nearest orch and settled instead on dropping it in the clay washbasin beside him.

Legolas' frown deepened. "We don't have much time left… we must find him before my father's men reach this cesspool," he grunted in frustration. Feolin nodded absently, stifled a yawn, and took out the washrag once more.

Before Legolas could say another word, the sound of heavy footsteps reached the pair's elven ears. Knowing that he could not risk being discovered conversing with his so-called 'slave', Legolas bid Feolin a silent farewell and strode quickly out of the room. He did not wish to leave his dear friend alone with those disgusting creatures. No, he would not even wish that fate on some annoying, sniveling dwarf. Nevertheless, it was necessary if they wanted to continue their foray undetected. So, praying that the Valar would provide his companion with good luck, he walked down the long corridor that led to the dungeons.

The same direction that the orcs were headed.

He looked back curiously, only mildly interested in whatever the two beings were up to. They appeared to be carrying something…something heavy. He could only see the back of the first one; it was hunched over, lifting one end of something that the prince could not make out. He shrugged. Whatever it was, it was most likely to be unimportant to his mission. He continued walking forward toward the dungeons when he spotted something that he had never noticed before. It was an open door.

He stopped, wondering what in Arda this new passage could lead to. As he looked closer, he knew why he had never noticed the doorway before; the wooden door was fashioned and painted to blend in almost perfectly with the surrounding stone. He slid past the door as quietly as he could, wincing when the un-oiled hinges creaked with the movement.

The room inside was dark and musty, and it reminded him vaguely of a cave he had once ventured into as a young elfling. The only source of light came from a large pit that held piles of burning coal. Such volumes of fuel let off fumes that made even Legolas feel a bit woozy. Opposite of the fire pit was a small cart filled with un-singed coal with a rusty, worn-out shovel leaning against it. The chamber was obviously the heat source of the castle.

The prince walked in a circle within the tiny room, searching for anything else that may be of use to him. Just glancing around the room sent unwanted shivers up his spine, although why he didn't know. It seemed oddly suspicious to him that such a common addition to large palaces would be so well hidden, and it was even more strange that no one appeared to be using it. He found nothing, however, and he turned once more to exit, carefully closing the door behind him.

Legolas wasn't sure what to make of the room he had just left. Why would such a common chamber be so well hidden? There was nothing suspicious about a heating room usually, so why conceal it with a hidden doorway? He had seen anything like this ever before, though he had heard that dwarves usually fashioned hidden entrances to their realms in such ways.

What was Vilgar trying to hide?

o-o-o

Deep in the dungeons of Vilgar's castle, a small elfling was deep in thought.

At least it appeared to be that way. More than likely, it was boredom that had caused his features to become so grim and serious. The routine, sameness of every interminable day was starting to eat at the young being's mind. Each morning without fail one of Vilgar's lapdogs would startle him out of sleep with the same old cold breakfast gruel. Afterwards, it was off to the kitchens for him, where he spent his time scraping out ovens and watching giant tubs of lard (oh, by the Valar, how he hated lard). He could barely remember the last time he had even talked to someone without uttering, "Yes, master." It seemed to have happened so long ago.

He sighed. With his luck, the man would be dead by now. And once again, he would be alone. And it was all the human's fault!

A dark scowl crossed his face as the image of a man surfaced in his mind. Men were always ruining everything! His ada had told him stories… stories of pillaging thieves, of devastating wars; sadness, despair…and they all somehow involved men. Stupid, self-absorbed creatures they were, desiring nothing but their own personal gain.

It was men that destroyed his family.

Landolin slowly lifted his head as he heard heavy footsteps making their way toward him. He peered out between the metal bars that adorned his cell and squinted in the dark, where even his elven eyes had trouble seeing. All he could make out for a long time was the hunched back of an orc. But after a time, they came into the light from a dingy window, and Landolin realized that there were not only two orcs instead of one, but an unconscious figure held between them. Whoever was between them looked deathly pale, and his limbs resembled that of a naked skeleton. What was left of the being's clothes hung like rags from his worn body, and tangled with his dark brown hair.

Dark hair…

Another prisoner had been shoved in his cell for a short time, but disappeared soon after. The image was fuzzy in his mind, and he couldn't quite recall the person's name. He did know, however, that whoever it was had been very kind, and was somehow connected to Elrond. He'd been badly hurt, and he had had dark hair. He knew he should remember more in detail, but, then again, in his hazy state of mind he could hardly remember his own name, let alone some stranger's.

Suddenly awake, Landolin scrambled to his knees and shoved his face between his cell bars. He recognized that face; there was no mistaking it. Although the kindly eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids, he could tell without a doubt that this was the one he remembered. As he watched with bated breath, a name suddenly surfaced in his mind, and he broke out in a wide grin.

_Estel!_

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**There you have it: chapter nine! Hope you all liked it! **

viggomaniac: **He he. You're right, we do need some more "Estel in defiance" mode, don't we? Well, since he was mostly incapacitated in this chapter, I'm gonna have to say, next chapter baby! ;-) Sorry bout that. P.S. Hope your fried brain gets better.**

grumpy: **Thanks for reviewing! Maybe I'll have more about Elladan later too. **

jacquelinestel and wackoranger: **Hey, glad you liked it! I just couldn't resist putting Bilbo in. He's so wonderfully oblivious, I love him! LoL, thanks for reviewing!**

Sarah: **I'm glad you like my humble ficcy. Thanks so much for reviewing!**

**Well, I must depart from you people for now. Until we meet (or post) again!**

**(BTW, don't forget to review!)**

**_CzechChicka_**


	10. Vital Note

Hey Everyone!

I'm sooooo soooorrry!

Wow. I must say, it's been a pretty long time since I posted last. Although I won't go into boring detail, I have been soooooo busy! Yea, and I haven't even had time to look at There and Back Again. However, I do have half of the next chapter written, and I definitely don't plan on dropping the story!

Needless to say, the original chapters need just a tad of editing, so I'm going to be re-writing the first part of the fic slightly (though not too much!), and reposting the chapters at about two per week. That way, I can hopefully have the next chapter up by September! Yay!

So yea, that's what's going on. Once again, I am soooo sorry for the intermitably long wait. To those of you who still check this page, you are the best readers an author could ask for! I'm don't my best to get this story up and running again. If you have any questions... e-mail me. It should be on my profile page. I hope you like the next bit!

Until next time...

_ CzechChicka_


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